


Once in a Blue Moon

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Blood Play, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Season/Series 10, Tumblr Prompt, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3489446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You said ‘get on your stomach.’ Now, ‘wait.’" Castiel levels an look at him. "I’m starting to think you don’t know what you want, Crowley."</p><p>"You are a complete pain in my ass," Crowley grumbles. Castiel sees the want in his eyes, though. When Crowley craves something, the demon twists like lava under his skin. The stronger his hunger, the more violent the demon becomes.</p><p>--<br/>Takes place sometime between 10x10: "The Hunter Games" and 10x14: "The Executioner's Song." General Season 10 spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once in a Blue Moon

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely Tumblr anon sent me this:
> 
> _I love how you write crowstiel! Imo, they're so snippy and all about posturing because their relationship is such a huge vulnerability but they obviously care so much about the other's wellbeing. But I could see them letting their guard down once in a blue moon, despite themselves, like Crowley putting his arms around Cas from behind and smushing his face in hair while they talk shop and Cas letting him because he recognizes Crowley's moods 1/2_
> 
> _And then someone like rowena comes on in or Cas says something that puts Crowley’s hackles right up, without meaning to, and he springs from him so fast it’s comical. And Cas might or might not rekindle the contant if he, himself, isn’t done with the cuddle session. And I also can see a lot of knowing/tolerant looks when the other is doing the hot and cold thing because they both do it but that’s their away. *FEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS* 2/2_
> 
> Gave me so many feelings about secret, quiet Crowstiel moments. I decided to write something based on this!
> 
> ...It ended up being total, raging porn ^^;;

Castiel stops talking. 

He's been updating Crowley on the search for Cain. No leads, just dead ends. Castiel is at a loss.

He would not volunteer this information normally. Things with Crowley are, and have always been, complicated. And Castiel has not been shy in his investigation tactics, torturing and killing demons when necessary. 

Even with the minion slaughter, Crowley seems inclined - no, motivated - to assist him in curing Dean Winchester. With their ally and resource pool thin, Castiel has trusted Crowley, at least with the basic facts. Perhaps one of Castiel’s leads will spark something in the demon-king. A memory of an old spell, maybe. Or a rumor whispered through the ranks of Hell.

But, the latest news dies on Castiel’s lips when arms circle his waist. He feels the pressure of Crowley’s face against his neck. His beard rasps against the collar of Castiel’s trench coat. 

He expects Crowley’s hands to move lower. That is where their meetings tend to go. 

It surprises Castiel when Crowley’s fingers stay flat against his stomach. Crowley seems content to simply hold him. 

"Are you well, angel?" Crowley asks. His chest moves against Castiel’s back.

"Yes." It is an odd question, one Castiel does not know how else to answer.

"This grace. It’s held up for you, has it?"

Castiel glances over his shoulder. "I’m fine." From this angle, he can’t see Crowley’s face. "Are…you well?" Castiel asks. The question sounds strange coming from him. Awkward, clumsy.

Crowley chuckles.

"Crowley?" 

"Don’t pretend you care enough to ask that question, ducky," Crowley murmurs. His fingers tuck into Castiel’s shirt. "You’re speaking to me because you can’t afford to turn down my assistance. Not unless you want your little Squirrel to go AWOL."

Castiel frowns at the fingers on his stomach. “You’re…not well, then,” he says. Castiel grazes Crowley’s hands with his own. 

Crowley pulls back like he’s been scorched with holy water. He digs his fists into his pockets, scowling at the angel. "It’s killing you," he accuses. "You’d love to smite me where I stand. Burn my eyeballs out. But you can’t, not as long as Mr. GQ has the Mark on his arm. If it was up to you, the Winchesters wouldn’t be anywhere near the King of Hell."

Castiel sighs. “Yes."

Crowley laughs with disbelief. “Yes? To which part? The whole bloody thing?”

"Yes," Castiel repeats. His eyes soften.

"I hate you sometimes," Crowley grumbles. "No, I hate you all the time. Even when I don’t think I hate you, I hate you. Because I don’t hate you!"

Castiel smiles. He understands this feeling well. 

Castiel gives Crowley space to seethe. He goes to the motel window and sets his hands on the sill. Normally, these establishments offer a view of dirty parking lots or alleys. This one, at least, faces trees. Stars shine between a maze of branches. 

He lowers his head when arms slide around him again. Crowley’s hands are more active this time. They pull his shirt from his slacks, then lie flat against his skin. 

"Are you well?" Castiel asks again. This time, the question is more sincere.

“It’s complicated,” Crowley replies.

"Is there anything I can do?" 

Crowley snorts.  ”You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No, I’m perfectly capable…” His voice trails off.

Castiel peeks over his shoulder. “Crowley?”

"You can take this damned thing off." Crowley steps back enough to pick at the angel’s trench coat.

Castiel smiles. He likes the coat, it’s true. But Crowley’s hatred of the garment is a large part of why he keeps it. He enjoys arguing about its merits. Sentimental, aesthetic. No angle has escaped their war of words. 

Because of this rivalry, Castiel would normally dig in his heels. Drag this out and enjoy watching Crowley's temper flare. 

Tonight, Castiel removes the trench without complaint. 

Crowley looks him over, lower lip dragged between his teeth. He begins to unbutton Castiel’s shirt. Crowley could wave the garment off - one of the perks of being the King of Hell. But Crowley prefers to take his time. Each button is plucked between his fingers, exposing strong skin beneath. 

When the shirt is undone, Castiel rouses to action. He presses Crowley’s jacket off, then steps behind him. The King of Hell’s tie is loosened, the knot eased down slowly. He does not miss Crowley’s chuckle, husked with interest.

Crowley’s shirt follows, also opened button by button. Castiel drags his tongue over his lips, feigning concentration. Crowley’s eyes snap to his mouth. 

Shirts off, they look at each other in the darkness.

"Is this what you want?" Castiel asks.

"You, love, lack every ounce of subtlety," Crowley says. His voice sounds more Crowley-like, sharp and precise. 

Despite the words, Crowley does not want subtlety. He makes this clear when he hooks a hand on Castiel’s chin and pulls his head down. 

Castiel chuckles against the demon. For now, he lets Crowley lead, closing his eyes and offering his mouth. Crowley steps into his space. His hands move up Castiel's chest and around to his back. They drift down, to the small. Down further, grabbing Castiel's waist.

Castiel comes to him as requested, body on body. He can already feel Crowley’s arousal in the front of his pants.  

"Is this what you want?" Castiel repeats.

Crowley growls under his breath. “Don’t test me, angel.”

Castiel affects innocence, his tone airy and distant. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says. He curls his palm around the demon’s crotch. Fingers sink between Crowley’s thighs, cupping his balls. 

"I said." Crowley grabs a fist of Castiel's hair. "Don’t. Test me. I’m not in the mood."

Castiel shrugs. His smile is lost in the demon’s mouth.

Crowley is done with niceties. He disintegrates the angel’s pants and undergarments. Castiel trips out of what is left of them, directed towards the bed by Crowley’s impatient hands. 

"You think this is funny?" Crowley mutters. "I am about to fuck you so hard, sweetheart. Your weakened grace won’t be enough to heal you."

"Hm." Castiel feigns interest. His angle is bad, on his back with Crowley straddled over him. Castiel can’t get his slacks off. But he gets enough down to see how aroused Crowley is. His cock juts out, already leaking at the tip. 

Castiel licks his lips. There was a time when this lapse would have bothered him. But he gave up the morality game a long time ago. As many sins as Castiel has committed, he has no guilt left to spare for this tryst. There are too many other failures to do penance for. 

"Get on your stomach," Crowley bids. He stops himself. "No, wait."

Castiel raises a brow. “Wait?”

Crowley answers with his mouth on Castiel’s neck. Castiel dips his head back, urged by the fingers in his hair. Knuckles rake across his scalp as the demon’s beard scratches his skin.

Castiel hums under his breath. His hand loiters downward, strolling through the hair at the base of Crowley’s cock. He twists the coarse curls on his fingers. Crowley makes a warning noise. 

"Are you waiting for an invitation?" Crowley mutters. He punctuates the words with his tongue. It drags, fat and hot, up the side of Castiel’s throat. 

"You said ‘get on your stomach.’ Now, ‘wait.’" Castiel levels an look at him. "I’m starting to think you don’t know what you want, Crowley."

"You are a complete pain in my ass," Crowley grumbles. Castiel sees the want in his eyes, though. When Crowley craves something, the demon twists like lava under his skin. The stronger his hunger, the more violent the demon becomes.

"Indecision is a sign of weakness," Castiel tells him.

"Get on your stomach," Crowley says. "Now."

Castiel should make a comeback, or flat out refuse. 

But there is a time for warring with the demon, a time for fighting. Tonight, Castiel wants to lie on his stomach. He wants to close his fists in the bed sheets when Crowley bites his back. 

Teeth marks are left on each shoulder blade. There is a low tremor beneath, the teasing twitch of his wings. So intimate. Castiel gasps, trying to bury the sound against the mattress.

Crowley does not miss it, though. He drags his tongue up each patch of torn skin. As he does, he slides his hands between Castiel’s legs. Crowley cups his thighs and eases them apart. 

The angel is aware of the stretch of his human limbs. He feels himself spread, ass lifted and exposed.

Crowley grunts as he tastes Castiel’s broken skin. "Look at you, peach," he murmurs. "Ripe for the taking, aren’t you?" 

"Talking too much. Another sign of in-" …indecision. Another sign of _indecision_.

The word dies when Crowley’s thumb strokes his entrance. Castiel sucks in a breath. His tension is weakness, somewhat embarrassing. But it has been forever since Crowley touched him like this. Castiel wants it, more than he realized. 

"You’re sure that grace is holding up, darling?" Crowley asks. He is in his element now, purring like a lion. "Can I fill you right up? Or do you need me to sweeten you? Get you good and wet like a human whore?"

"Why are you still talking?" Castiel grits. He means to sound annoyed, but there is a note of anxiousness in his voice.

The slight tremor makes Crowley chuckle. “I don’t mind, Cas,” he says. “The last thing I’d want to do is hurt you.”

These words are not spoken over Castiel’s back, but lower. Much lower. Castiel feels Crowley’s breaths between his spread ass.  

"Would you like me to soften you up a bit?"

"There’s no need-" Castiel starts.

He does not finish. Crowley’s tongue lays flat on his hole. After a moment, he pets the puckered skin with a slow, wet lick.

Castiel jerks against the hands Crowley has on his waist. His cock jumps uncomfortably over the bed.

"Are you sure, Cas?" The demon-king is toying now. He tilts his head, making his beard rasp on Castiel’s skin.

Castiel groans. He wants to oppose, but he doesn't have the words. 

His silence is all the answer Crowley needs. Seconds later, the demon’s tongue is inside him.

Castiel gropes at the sheets. “I…don’t need…” he tries, but the words crack.

Crowley’s tongue thrusts up harder into him, slicking up his insides, twisting wet heat. Castiel shivers. His arousal throbs, thick and impatient, on the bed sheets. He reaches down his own body, about to cup himself. 

His hand is beaten by Crowley’s fingers. The demon’s thumb settles under the head of his cock. He presses the sensitive fold, making Castiel hiss.

"Patience, love," Crowley murmurs. "You’re mine to touch."

"You should do better then," Castiel protests. But his argument is weak.

Crowley’s tongue presses inside him again, stretching and softening. Castiel feels dizzy.

Dazed, he tries to look over his shoulder. He cannot see much, just Crowley’s face hovering close to his skin.

"Oh, the fun I’m going to have with you…"

Castiel is indignant. But, tonight, a part of him wants Crowley to have his fun. He wants to feel the demon’s weight pushing him into the mattress. He wants to struggle to hold himself up as Crowley fills him again and again.

Castiel bites his lip, trying to hide the desire twitching through his body. But Crowley feels everything. Perceptive King of Hell, attentive to the smallest detail.

"Ah, Cas," Crowley murmurs. His lips touch the small of Cas’ back, then the center of his spine. His hands push Castiel’s thighs, urging them to spread wider.

Castiel withstands for a moment, but he can’t mask his want long. At Crowley’s insistence, he forces his legs to stretch. Castiel’s cock is blushed red between himself and the mattress. Heavy and heated, still sensitive from the brief attention of Crowley’s hand. 

"Get on with it," Castiel mutters.

Crowley doesn’t reply. He just fucks Castiel through in one hard thrust.

Castiel twists his head, overcome. His human pain wars with the stoicism of his grace - the part that can enjoy without physical limitation. He pants out a breath and bows his head against  the mattress.

"Fuck me, I forgot how tight you are, angel," Crowley murmurs. He wraps his hand around Castiel’s cock. Castiel’s arms shake. He drops his head lower.

Crowley thrusts into him again, weight shoving him down. Castiel chews back a groan. Crowley is so thick in him. The human part of him is misfiring, lust and need swimming through every inch of his body. 

"Lovely like this. Ass up for the King of Hell. Begging for my cock, yeah?"

"Bite me, Crowley," Castiel grits. He likes this phrase from Dean and uses it often. 

But, in this context, he realizes it may not be appropriate.

"Heh," Crowley says, "Don’t mind if I do."

And he does. He bites over the bite marks already left on Castiel’s shoulder blades. Harder this time, wetting his mouth with Castiel’s blood. 

Castiel’s wings quiver in their dark hiding place.

Crowley licks away his blood, breaths hot on broken skin. His free hand sinks into Castiel’s hair and yanks his head back.

Castiel’s throat tightens with pain. Mortal tears wet his lashes. His entire being, human and angel, shakes. Loving it. Wanting more. 

Thrusts leave Castiel’s body bruised. The pressure is fat between Castiel’s legs. His arms waver.

Crowley’s hand stretches from Castiel’s hair to his face. Castiel turns towards the fingers. Their tips slide across Castiel’s lips.

Castiel presses his mouth against them. He licks them too. Castiel isn’t ashamed. His vessel - his body - everything is burning. He wants to taste, to smell, to feel all he can. Strange, human desires as the grace inside him wanes.

Crowley works his hand faster. Castiel is already so sensitive, so desperate. Maintaining composure is becoming difficult. Castiel tries to bite back every sound, every hidden want. Crowley already has enough of him. He doesn’t need any more.

"Won’t you show me, love?" Crowley murmurs. "Those pretty wings of yours?"

"No," Castiel grits.

Crowley bites his shoulder, somehow harder than before. Castiel moans when his skin breaks. Pain flutters on his nerves.

He pictures his wings stretched. Damaged as they are, it would feel divine. Wide. Powerful.

His stolen grace is dying, and he will die with it. How much longer will he be able to feel his wings? 

"Castiel." Crowley says. He licks away the fresh pain left by his teeth. His mouth is damp with Castiel’s blood. 

These tender tongue-strokes contrast with the hard fucking. He rides Castiel’s body, trying to force him through the bed.

Crowley squeezes the head of Castiel’s cock. milking him above the bed sheets. He thrusts in, skin smacking skin.

Castiel’s body wrings tight around him. He grunts against folded forearms, hands clenched as if in prayer.

"Cas," Crowley murmurs.

Castiel's name in this strange, soft voice does it. He shudders, hips spasming into Crowley’s waiting hand. 

Crowley growls, feral in his victory. He pulls Castiel up on him, feels every inch of his body twitch and jump. Crowley rides him out, reaching his own climax with a satisfied groan.

***

Crowley collapses into downy softness. Long, bony limbs.

He only realizes, after a cum-dazed moment, that his face is buried in feathers. Burnt black feathers. Majestic wings fanned around the angel’s back.

Crowley jumps back. He is the King of Hell, he’s seen it all. 

...But this sight is new. Castiel’s wings. He blinks at them in awe.

Castiel turns, the flush of orgasm still warm on his face. He licks his lips, a touch...apprehensive, perhaps?

The angel sinks onto his side, the appendages stretched behind him. He does not hold out a hand or invite Crowley with words. But Castiel’s eyes stay on the demon, blue and questioning. 

Crowley crosses the bed to him. Castiel permits him 

Tentative, Crowley runs his fingers along a feather. Gives it a gentle tug. Castiel watches Crowley, expression unreadable but calm. His wings flutter under the demon’s attention.

Crowley opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

Castiel chuckles. “If I knew this would silence you-“

"Shut up," Crowley breathes. The words are soft, stunned. "Show them to me."

Castiel tilts his head. But he holds his wings out straighter. His eyes close when Crowley begins his inspection.

The demon’s fingers trace across feathers, like skimming a wave at low-tide. His explores the boning next. The slender ridging knots like a young tree’s branches.

Hands are not enough. Crowley replaces them with his mouth. He kisses bone, then tests it with his tongue. 

Crowley expects a gasp or twitch from the angel. Some sexual response. It surprises him when Castiel laughs. The wings flutter again, a happy little shiver. 

"Why now?" Crowley asks

Castiel’s chuckle eases to a smile. “It might be the last time,” he replies.

Crowley understands. 

"I’d like to…" Crowley’s voice trails off. 

Castiel nods his permission. 

Crowley slides an arm around him. His hand buries in feathers, stroking with tenderness unbecoming of the King of Hell. The wings thrum beneath his fingers.

Castiel sighs. His low-lidded gaze rests on Crowley, who meets his eyes for a moment. Then, the demon looks past him to the window. 

If only they could stay like this. But they never can for long.

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> With this stolen grace situation, I'm not sure if Castiel still has his wings? I remember in Season 9, Cecily insinuates to Crowley that Cas’ wings are gone. And it's stolen grace, not Cas', so why would he have wings. Right?
> 
> Buuut…I wanted wings. So. Wings?
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you liked! I'm on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi ^_^


End file.
